


Getting the Hang of It

by FrenchRoast



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 21:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4495518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchRoast/pseuds/FrenchRoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: With his son’s death, Mr Gold has nothing left to live for. And has calmly decided to hang himself inside his big pink Victorian House. But as he climbs the chair and readies to put the rope around his neck, he hears the doorbell. Deciding to answer it and send the unwanted visitor running, he opens the door to find Belle, a new neighbor who just moved in that day and come to say hello with a basket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting the Hang of It

Mr. Gold had chosen the rope carefully; he needed it to be strong, thick enough to do the job. The kind he settled on (after several awkward moments in the hardware store) was bright white, made of nylon. The fibers were soft to the touch, a luxurious quality he didn’t feel he deserved. Not after what had happened to Baelfire.

It took him a few tries to get the knot right; it wasn’t as though he’d done this before. Once he had the correct knot, he had to secure the rope to the beam. Then he had everything ready, except for the chair. He dragged a dining chair over to the living room where the rope hung. A month ago he would’ve picked it up, being careful not to scuff the floors--how many times had he admonished Baelfire for dragging chairs over the hardwood?

Mr. Gold considered whether or not he should leave a note. 

He decided against writing one; no one in town even liked him. Why would they care to know the reason he’d decided to give up? Of course they would say it was because of the accident. No need to confirm their all-too-correct suspicions; the town busybodies wouldn’t appreciate a note nearly as much as they’d enjoy endlessly speculating whether or not there was a more sinister reason. 

The question thus resolved, he situated the walnut chair beneath the dangling noose and stepped up onto it. Solemnly, gingerly, Mr. Gold lifted the circle of the noose over his head and let it rest around his neck. 

The rope didn’t feel quite so soft now.

Mr. Gold briefly closed his eyes, uttering a silent prayer--a wish to see his son again, a wish for forgiveness for not seeing the other car running the light that day. For not letting Baelfire drive because Gold was in a hurry to get to the movies on time. For being the one who lived.

He took a deep breath. 

DING! DONG!

He was so startled by the sound of the doorbell, he very nearly fell off the chair and into eternal oblivion. He’d never heard it ring before this moment. Mr. Gold lifted the noose off and climbed down from the chair.

Just who the hell was at the door?

And did they know they’d just interrupted his suicide attempt? He checked to make sure he’d drawn the blinds in the living room, and sighed in relief when he saw that he had.

He strode over to the front door, flustered and flushed. He threw it open to see a beautiful brunette standing on the doormat (which Mr. Gold had chosen precisely because it was the only doormat he had been able to find that didn’t have “WELCOME” written all over it in boldface). The woman had a basket handle looped over one arm. 

“Hi! I’m your new neighbor! I just moved into the blue house across the street,” she said. “I made a batch of muffins, but I always make too many, so I thought I’d use them as an excuse to come introduce myself.”

Mr. Gold just stared at her. 

“I promise they’re good. Blueberry with streusel topping, and a handful of mini lemon poppyseed for good measure,” she said, holding the basket out to him. “Oh, and my name’s Belle. Belle French. You’re Mr. Gold, right?”

Mr. Gold nodded, and took the basket from her. 

“I, um, thank you,” he said. At a loss to do anything else, he fell back on old polite habits. “Would you like to come in and have some tea?” he asked, stepping back to let her in. 

“That sounds lovely, Mr. Gold,” Belle started to follow him in. “And you can just call me Belle if you like.”

That was when he remembered the newest addition to the living room decor. 

“Actually, it’s a bit stuffy inside--tea will be much better outside on the porch,” Mr. Gold suggested. He stopped going any further into the house, and effectively blocked Belle from going in far enough to see the living room. He shoved the basket of muffins back into her hands.

“I’ll get the kettle going and be right back with the cups and the tea box,” he said. He beckoned towards the small table and chairs on the porch. “You have a seat while I round everything up.” Miss French smiled and walked back out, onto the covered patio. Gold shut the door behind him and ran hastily into the kitchen.

“Kettle kettle kettle,” he said, rummaging in the bottom cabinet where the kettle lived when it wasn’t in use. He got that going and then pulled out the box of teas, two cups, saucers, cream, sugar, and a tray. 

This was insane. Five minutes ago, he’d been knotting a fucking noose, and now he was making tea for the new neighbor? He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or relieved at the interruption. At least she hadn’t seen anything. 

“Mr. Gold?” a voice called timidly from the front of the house. “You forgot to take the muff--”

 

“Damn it, Gold,” he swore at himself. “Should’ve taken down the noose first.” He ran to the living room, where Belle French stood, aghast. Muffins were strewn all over the floor, scattered after she’d dropped the basket.

“...were you about to. Did I interrupt…” she started. Stopped. Gathered herself, subtly. “I know we don’t know each other at all, but...are you okay, Mr. Gold?”

And god help him, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. The tears began. He shook his head. “No,” he replied. Tears were already running down his cheek, spilling onto the front of his shirt. “No, I’m not.” He sank to the floor. “My boy,” he choked. “My boy is gone and I’ll never see him again. I’ll never see him again and it’s my fault. My fault he’s dead.”

Belle walked over to him, and knelt down on the carpet beside him, silent. She wrapped an arm around him, and then another, so that Mr. Gold was sobbing into her shoulder. Belle held him as the kettle boiled dry, until he ran out of tears. When he couldn’t sob any more, Belle helped him onto the couch, tucking a quilt around him before refilling the kettle and bringing the tea service into the living room. She let him sip quietly at the tea while she removed the rope from the beam and carried the dining chair back into the dining room. After cleaning up the mess from the muffins she’d dropped, Belle sat on the couch next to Mr. Gold. 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he croaked. His throat was raw from all the crying. “If you hadn’t arrived with those muffins, I wouldn’t-”

“I’m glad I was here,” Belle told him. “Now, about this rope. I’ve put it in my basket for the moment. If you want it back, I’ll give it to you. But you’ll have to wait a day after you ask for it before you get it back. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“And since I spilled all the muffins, I’ll have to bake a new batch and bring them to you. Will you be around to eat them with me?”

Mr. Gold nodded. 

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he said. Belle stood up.

“Good.”

“Belle?”

“Yes, Mr. Gold?”

“Thank you.”

Now it was Belle’s turn to nod. “You’re welcome.”

“And Belle? Call me Rumplestiltskin. That’s my first name.”

“Rumple-what?”

“Exactly,” he smiled. It was the first time he’d smiled since the accident.


End file.
